SH: The Curse of the Estate
by WayWardWonderer
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson are invited to an estate to take part in the reading of a will, but the grim history of the property proves itself to be far more interesting than any will. Death, deception, lies, poison, dark secrets and a peculiar murder all entangle what was supposed to be a calm weekend in the Balkans for the two sleuths.


Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson had been summoned to the estate of an illustrious family in the Balkans as form of good will and charitable contributions to Scotland Yard, as well as numerous hospitals throughout the United Kingdom. While the invitation had initially been declined by Holmes a little research into the history of the estate had intrigued him and completely reinvigorated his curiosity in the enigmatic past of the family itself. Convincing Watson that the invitation could provide both a relaxing holiday and an enthralling case the duo set forth from the station that very weekend.

Arriving at the lavish estate via carriage Holmes and Watson set foot on the expansive property and gazed up the tower stone structure of the family castle with a sense of awe and admiration.

"Charming little abode, is it not?" Sherlock sarcastically commented as he placed his pipe between his teeth and placed a lit match the tobacco packed within.

"Little is not the word I would have chosen myself." Watson retorted as he watch the smoke billow from Sherlock's pipe and swirl about his head. "But it certainly is charming, yes."

The stone structure was of a deep, somber gray that was contrasted by the pure white wooden trestle that snaked up from the ground to the large windows two feet above. Dozens upon dozens of blood red roses blossomed and climbed along the trestle covering the walls in a natural bouquet of flowers. A path of white stones encircled the carriage drive that looped in front of the estate while offering two branches paths that led to the front door and off to the stable located behind the castle.

A large wooden door painted a dark green opened quickly as the property's caretaker greeted the newly arrived guests with a broad smile and opened arms. "Ah, at last! The famous Sherlock Holmes and his esteemed colleague Dr. John Watson! Welcome, welcome!"

The caretaker was a man aged well into his mid fifties with thin black and gray hair slicked backward in a simple style, the color almost as dark as his suit. His dark brown eyes were alight with excitement while a smile peeked out from beneath a burly gray mustache. Tall with a portly build the caretaker was clearly a man of strength as well as dignity, save for the small drops of silver colored wax that stained the tip of his otherwise perfectly polished shoes.

"Please, allow you to show you inside." The caretaker insisted as he in turn shook hands with Sherlock and then John. "My name is Bernard Winchester. I have been caretaker to the Halstead estate for thirty years come this fall. Mr. Blanchard and his wife are awaiting their guests in the study." Motioning with his arm toward the still opened door he reached into the rear storage compartment of the carriage and retrieved Holmes and Watson's luggage. "I shall bring your items to your rooms."

"Thank you, my good sir." Sherlock complimented as he and Watson walked up the pathway and set foot through the door if the impressive castle together.

"By Jove," Watson's voice echoed through the large foyer as he and Sherlock looked about at the antiquated furniture that created an inviting atmosphere, the grand piano near the farthest wall and numerous extravagant paintings by exemplary artists that lined the walls. "this castle is truly spectacular!"

"Yes, indeed." Sherlock agreed as he thoughtfully chewed on the end of his pipe. "And I suspect that this castle holds a secret just as spectacular, if not more so."

"Honestly Holmes, you're the only person who could set foot in a luxurious estate and have your thoughts immediately go to misgivings and deception!"

A gentleman dressed in a dark brown suit with a red tie and a walking cane entered the foyer to properly greet the first of his guests to arrive. "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I am so glad that you could attend." He stood before the two men and extended his hand to shake. "I am Charles Blanchard, and this is my estate."

"Charles Blanchard." Sherlock stated as he reciprocated the greeting. "I trust that you are feeling well enough to accommodate your guests this evening."

"Why, yes." Charles blushed slightly as he straightened himself and ran a hand through his light sandy hair. "I am feeling much better than I have the previous nights. How, may I ask, did you know I had been recently unwell?"

"A man of your young age and slim stature should not require a walking cane to assist your stride." Sherlock began to explain casually. "Not a man of war or physical labor there would be no need for such assistance unless you had been injured, which your lack of shifted weight with your limp indicates that you suffered not a trauma to your legs but are in fact suffering from pain in your upper body. Your abdomen if I am correct."

"Why... yes! I had been suffering from the most atrocious pain for the past two weeks, but the doctors could not find a source."

Watson's eyes lit up slightly at the revelation. "Perhaps I could see to your condition if you'd so desire another assessment?"

"Why, thank you doctor," Charles politely declined the offer. "but I appear to be well on my way to recovery. Perhaps something disagreeable with a meal." He calmly and logically glossed over the fear that he might still be ill. "Might I escort you to the garden? My wife is waiting for us."

"Yes, please." Sherlock was eager to explore the rest of the estate. "We quite eager to meet the rest of the house guests."

Sherlock's eyes took in every sight, every detail of the layout of the estate as Charles showed both Sherlock and Watson to exterior garden that was just as vibrant in color and wildflowers as the front trestles that lined the windows.

"Marie, our guests have begun to arrive!" Charles announced as he returned to young wife's side as she overlooked the gorgeous garden. "Please meet Detective Sherlock Holmes and his colleague Dr. John Watson."

The woman in question, Marie, was a slender beauty with long blonde hair that she had pulled back into a neat bun. Shining green eyes and a rosy smile was the warmest greeting that either Holmes or Watson had ever received.

"Ah, how wonderful!" Marie gleefully cheered at the two guests. "I am so glad you could visit this weekend. We are honored to have such esteemed members of Scotland Yard grace our home with their presence!"

"But the honor is ours." Sherlock responded cordially. "It's not often that the Halstead estate has opened its doors to strangers and friends alike."

"Oh, yes." Maria tore her eyes away from her guests and fixated on the floor in shame. "Father was very insistent on keeping people away. He feared thieves. It was a shame that he isolated himself so. When Mother died from illness when I was but a child he was truly alone during his final hours."

"Ah, yes. The former master of this wondrous estate; James Halstead. I understand he passed just recently. I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." Her gaze returned to his and she smiled warmly. "I am sure you and Dr. Watson are both weary from your travels. I insist you make yourselves comfortable in your rooms while our other guests arrive. Please, do make yourselves at home!"

"Why thank you." Watson chimed in goodhearted fashion. "That sounds very delightful."

Charles spotted Winchester walking through the foyer and motioned for the caretaker to step forth. "Bernard shall show you to your rooms."

Winchester nodded and escorted the duo to their rooms located on the second floor of the castle. The lengthy corridor demonstrated the truly massive size of the castle and subsequently the rooms numerous contained within.

"These shall be your rooms." Winchester stated as he pushed open the first door on the right. "Dr. Watson."

"Thank you." Watson peered inside and found his two bags sitting on the floor at the foot of the large bed. A tall white candle was burning on the nightstand beside the bed creating an inviting aura. "This looks positively delightful."

"And Mr. Holmes," Winchester pushed open the second door across from Watson's room. In the room, in a similar fashion as Watson's room, Sherlock's bags were sitting on the edge of his bed: one bag contained his clothing and the second bag his equipment. A burning white candle on the nightstand mirrored the one in Watson's room across the way. "this is your room."

"Splendid." Sherlock took the pipe from his mouth and thoughtfully glanced back down the corridor from whence they had walked. The first door on the left neighbored Sherlock's room and was seemingly ignored by the caretaker. "Might I ask who will be taking residence in that room?"

"Oh, that room will not be taken by anyone."

"Oh? Is there something wrong?"

"Well, it's, uh..." Winchester began wringing his hands together nervously. "it's silly but Mrs. Blanchard is convinced that the room is cursed."

"Cursed?" Sherlock asked with a sly smile and a gentle laugh. "Now why would Mrs. Blanchard believe such a thing?"

"It's nothing really, just chance and circumstance."

"Come, come." Sherlock insisted on knowing the details. "Humor me. I wish to know why Mrs. Blanchard believes this to be true."

"Very well, but I must urge you to keep this knowledge to yourselves. I do not want the poor dear to feel embarrassed during such an important gathering."

"Of course, you have my word!" Sherlock looked to Watson who had been silently observing from his own doorway. "Right Watson?"

"Right!"

Winchester took in a deep breath and lowered his voice as he began to tell his story. "In the past, long before the late Mr. James Halstead had become master of the estate, there were numerous guests who had taken residence in this room. And every guest who stayed the night had been found the morning, dead."

"Dead?" Watson was now thoroughly intrigued. "How?"

"No one knows! There was no sign of a struggle, no weapon, no injury. But every person who dared to sleep in this room had been found dead without any known cause. Officially nine guests had died from a mysterious cause..."

"Curious..." Sherlock eyed the door, longing to set foot inside and investigate. "And this is why Mrs. Blanchard believes it to be cursed."

"Why yes." Winchester leaned in a little closer out of fear of potential eavesdropping. "And this is also the room where both her mother and father had passed away."

Watson's brow furrowed. "I thought Mrs. Halstead succumbed to illness?"

"She did. Or that is what we agreed to tell Mrs. Blanchard. You see, Mrs. Halstead had a mild fever from the winter and had stayed in the room to avoid spreading her illness. She should not have perished in the night from a simple fever."

"I see..."

Sherlock eagerly began chewing on his pipe again. "And Mr. Halstead. May I ask how he passed on?"

"While it's true Mr. Halstead was an embittered recluse his health had always been trending toward the positive. But he feared that the same sudden illness that took his wife so many years ago was lurking in the castle and would surely do him in! He even paid his own doctor to remain in the castle as often as possible, and just two days before Mr. Halstead died he had summoned the doctor to the castle fearing his life was in danger."

"Was it?" Sherlock persisted while restraining his impatience behind a mask of professionalism.

"I cannot say for sure, sir." Winchester admitted with a sense of defeat. "Whatever happened to him could be argued as an omen as he apparently died from illness when he locked himself away in the room to make out the details of his Last Will and Testament. In the morning Mrs. Blanchard had knocked at the door but there was no answer. I broke down the door upon her request and that is when we found Mr. Halstead slumped over on the floor. Dead. The will was resting on the desk and it seemed to have been altered."

"A will you say..." Sherlock's eyes began to twinkle with absolute fascination.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Halstead's personal lawyer has already taken claim over the will and shall read it tomorrow morning. He'll be one of the additional guests in our company tonight."

"Well then, thank you Winchester. I'm certain that Watson and I shall be rested and prepared to greet the other guests within the hour or so."

"Very good, sir. I shall summon you when dinner has been prepared." Winchester responded courteously as he took his leave of the corridor allowing Sherlock and Watson to freshen up in their respective rooms.

Sherlock pulled his pipe from between his teeth and pointed it toward Watson's direction before stepping through the doorway into his room. "Just I've previously stated; a spectacular secret! And it's just waiting for us to find it!"

* * *

As the hour ticked by additional guests arrived at the castle and were shown to their rooms. True enough no one was shown to the allegedly 'cursed' room that was just waiting to be explored. Shortly after the final guest had arrived Winchester announced that dinner was ready to be served, and each guest's presence had been requested before anyone was to dine.

Sherlock and Watson had chosen to remain in their usual attire, however both men had opted to leave behind their caps and pipes out of respect for their hosts. Descending the staircase the duo caught sight of the four other guests who had arrived shortly after their own arrival.

Roger Clement, an investor and banker from New York City in the United States of America had been invited as he had been the late Mr. Halstead's consort on his financial affairs. Tall with thinning dark hair, small framed glasses and well groomed mustache gave the banker a prematurely aged appearance despite being in his thirties. Sporting a thick accent and a booming voice it was quite difficult to look past him and to the other guests.

Timothy Scott, Mr. Halstead's personal lawyer, as well as his wife, Rachel, were also in attendance. A leather briefcase was clutched in Scott's hand, indicating that the contents within were of the utmost importance. Older than the other guests, well into his sixties, the white hair and hunched appearance spoke volumes of his years as an attorney.

Rachel was a few years younger than her husband but appeared decades his junior by comparison. Short with red hair and bright blue eyes the woman was surely a stunning beauty in her youth very much like Marie. A retired theater actress and mother had allowed the woman to bear a great temperament to the loud and boorish manner of Clement much to everyone's shock as the man was rowdy, if not completely abrasive.

The final guest was the Mr. Halstead's personal physician. Not nearly as aged as Scott but still looking older this his years Dr. Raymond Burr sported a full head of gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Heavyset but still light on his feet the doctor seemed to know his way well enough around the estate to clarify his extended stay on the estate during Mr. Halstead's final days.

Winchester showed the gathered guests to the dining hall where an extravagant feast of a celebratory nature had been prepared by the estate's personnel chef Alfred Kennsington. Having known the family for two generations the chef was an expert at creating meals that appeal to both the hosts and the guests alike.

The dining room had been adorned with family heirlooms and antiquities that gave the castle a true homestead atmosphere. On the Western wall a long clear window gave the diners a view of the expansive estate garden that was blossoming with numerous wildflowers as specially chosen flowers by Mrs. Blanchard herself.

An antique oak table that stretched twenty feet in the center of the dining room was covered in the appetizing banquet with two tall silver candles alight near the center. As each guest took their seat around the table maids and Winchester himself began serving the eight diners who shortly engaged in lightheartedly and enthralling conversation.

Charles sat at the head of the table with Marie to his right. Sherlock sat next to Marie with Watson to his side, and Dr. Burr next to him. Sitting to Charles' left was Timothy with Rachel at his side. Clement sat on the other side of Rachel and dominated most of the conversation with tales of New York life as well as all the places he's been able to travel because of his work, which of course quickly grew tiresome as the other guests tried to speak of their own affairs.

"Come now," Dr. Burr had heard enough from Clement. "why don't you silence yourself for one moment and allow others to speak?"

"I'm so sorry, doc!" Clement loudly apologized in a somewhat bitter manner. "Please. Tell us a story about your time in clinic after clinic after clinic? I'm sure that'll never get boring!"

"Really, how rude." Dr. Burr retorted with an insulted huff. "My practice maybe small, as are the villages I visit, but I can hold m head high knowing that I am helping people rather than swindling them out of their hard earned funds."

"Are you calling me a thief?"

"I am merely-"

"Enough." Watson commanded with an authoritative voice that had served him well while he was still in the army. "We've been invited here as a means of a civilized gathering. It'd be awfully impudent to speak in such a manner before our gracious hosts."

"Well said." Scott agreed, toasting Watson with his glass of white wine. "It's time we speak of a more uplifting subject. I for one am proud to announce that my wife and I are to become grandparents and will be spending time with our son this fall once the baby arrives."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Marie beamed with the warmest and most sincere smile she had exhibited all night. "I just love children! I hope to have a family for myself very soon!"

Charles reached over and squeezed her hand lightly in response. "It'll all happen in due time, my dear. I promise!"

Winchester appeared at the head of the table with the bottle of wine in his hands. "More wine, madame?"

"Why yes, thank you Charles." Maria sat back as Winchester refilled her glass readily. "How about you Mr. Holmes? Do you have any joyous news you'd wish to share with us?"

"I may have information of interest." Sherlock admitted as he sat upright his seat and pushed aside his still full wine glass. "I have recently become aware of a truly fascinating pattern of circumstances that have been plaguing a family, and with a little perseverance I hope to remedy the family of their plight sooner rather than later."

"Oh, I do hope so." Marie's sweetness was nearly infectious. "I wish I could do more to help people as well. That's why Charles and I have decided to host this gathering."

"Yes my dear," Watson interjected politely. "I have been meaning to ask why you have chosen your present company and to how our presence can be of a charitable consequence?"

Charles answered on Marie's behalf without intrusion or arrogance. "Well, as you know Marie's father, James Halstead, has recently passed away." His hand tightened around hers in a comforting manner. "And in the late Mr. Halstead's will he had generously left a great sum of wealth to both myself and Marie to do with as we please. Seeing as the estate is all the wealth we desire we have decided that we would spend the next several years donating portions of the Halstead fortune to worthy causes throughout the United Kingdom."

"How generous!" Rachel noted with a wide grin. "What a wonderful way to ensure your father's reputation remain one of virtue!"

"Thank you." Marie nodded respectfully to her guests who all shared Rachel's compliment with a toast of their glasses. "And that is why we've invited Mr. Scott and Mr. Clement to our gathering. My father had placed his will in the care of Mr. Scott before his passing and Charles thought it best he retain guardianship over it until the reading tomorrow morning. Mr. Clement, who had aided my father's investments in America, shall see that the fortune is divided evenly over the years. You both shall also receive an inheritance as part of your services to my father!"

Scott happily took his wife's hand in his own and held it tight. "I'm certain our first grandchild will benefit from this donation. We shall tell our son of the good news once we've returned home."

Clement looked less pleased but showed appreciation nonetheless. "Thank you Mrs. Blanchard. That's very kind."

Charles turned to look at Dr. Burr just past Watson. "And one of the first donations we shall make will be toward your practice, doctor."

"Oh, how truly splendid!" Dr. Burr's eyes began to sparkle with utmost joy. "I truly thank you from the bottom of heart, as do my patients, I assure you!"

"And to you," Charles next addressed Sherlock and Watson. "you have both risked your own reputations and your lives to track down nefarious criminals and expose the corrupt who would otherwise harm the innocent who would surely fall prey to their schemes. In spite of your meritorious efforts you refuse to accept any fees from your clientele, Marie and I, however, feel a donation to your practice is long overdue!"

"While I find your generosity inspiring," Sherlock stated firmly, but politely, "I'm afraid I must decline any donations to my name. However, I would not be opposed to having that particular sum being instead donated to Watson's own private practice."

"Oh, but Mr. Holmes," Marie sounded abjectly disappointed in Sherlock's refusal of the donation. "you've already done so much for the community. Please let us do something for you!"

"I'm sorry my dear, but I must stand my initial refusal. That is until I can be worthy of such a sum by solving your family of its previous dilemma."

"And what dilemma is that?" Charles questioned with an arched brow as he kept his hand over top Marie's hand in a tight grasp.

"Why, the rumored Halstead Family Curse."

The gathered guests around the dining table began muttering to one another in low voices while Watson himself flinched inwardly. Their muffled words were a mixture of shock, confusion and mild laughter before Rachel finally cleared her throat and returned her full attention to Marie while restraining her amusement behind a blank mask.

"Marie, is this true?" Rachel managed to keep her voice even as she spoke despite her eyes betraying the unjust humor she was attempting to conceal. "What the devil is Mr. Holmes speaking of?"

"I, uh..." Marie's eyes darted down and focused on the dining table as her cheeks flushed a bright red from embarrassment. Winchester stood behind Marie and put his hand to her shoulder to give the shaken hostess comfort while Charles put both hands over top of hers in the same gesture.

"Allow me to explain." Sherlock took command of the situation to spare Marie any further humiliation. Standing up from the table the famous sleuth walked casually to the large window and stood before the glass with his hands folded neatly behind his back. "The estate had seen many guests in its short time, a mere three decades for a castle is but a heartbeat. And yet it has seen now eleven people had the misfortune of suffering a premature death while in the halls of the estate while residing in a single locked room."

"Gracious Holmes," Watson nearly scolded as the macabre details were hardly appropriate for the situation at hand. "must we discuss this now? This is hardly suitable conversation."

"Oh yes, yes, yes!" Clement cheered on enthusiastically. "Please continue, this is very interesting! What else do you know of the estate deaths, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm afraid there is little information to be had as of yet." Sherlock replied coolly as he admired the setting sun through the window over the garden. "What details we can confirm all revolve around a single room and the event leading into the unfortunate demise of the guests taking place in but a single night."

"Oh, how fascinating!" Rachel suddenly beamed with a ghoulish delight. "Please, tell us more! Who were these guests?"

"That is enough!" Charles declared in a somewhat angry tone as he stood up from his seat, one hand remaining with Marie's hand and his other hand pressing into his still sore side. "Please Mr. Holmes. No more."

"But of course." Sherlock turned his back to the window and eyed both Charles and Marie before issuing his regrets for making his two hosts feel rather awkward about the matter. "I must apologize. My intention was not to offend or to embarrass, I assure you, but to liven the mood. I am so sorry if I have upset you Mrs. Blanchard."

"No, no." Marie patted at Winchester's hand to signal him to let her shoulders free, to which he visibly disdained but obeyed. "I am not upset, just startled."

"Again, I meant no harm." Sherlock insisted as he returned to his seat at the dining table, walking behind Winchester in the process. "Perhaps a change of subject shall prove beneficial?"

"Yes. Quite." Charles agreed as he too reclaimed his seat. "Mr. Scott, would you please enlighten us on the details of the will. Have Mr. Halstead's affairs been set in order?"

"Yes Mr. Blanchard." Scott confirmed with a slight nod and a sincere grin. "Tomorrow morning, as per dictated in the will itself, Mr. Halstead's fortune shall be dispersed as he so wished."

"Excellent!" Charles gave his wife a loving glance. "Everything will be tended to in the morning my dear, you can rest easy knowing your father's final wishes shall come to fruition."

"Oh yeah," Scott lifted his glass of wine in respect as he announced a moment to remember the late Mr. Halstead. "to our dearly departed James. May he rest in peace."

The other guests reciprocated the gesture with their own glasses before finishing the meal and engaging in pleasant and far less 'intrusive' conversation regarding their own affairs, or mutual business of interest.

* * *

Shortly before nine in the evening the diners excused themselves and reconvened in the common area to bid one another a pleasant night. While Charles, Marie, Scott and Rachel discreetly took their leave for the evening Clement and Dr. Burr had remained present in the common area to speak with Sherlock and Watson regarding the supposed 'curse' of the Halstead estate.

"If you'd be so kind, could you explain in greater detail this curse you spoke of earlier, Mr. Holmes?" Clement pressed the matter while keeping his usually booming voice uncharacteristically low as to not rouse the sleeping tenants on the floor above. "What about these mysterious deaths and a locked room?"

"Yes, do tell." Burr persisted as he wrung his hands together in eager anticipation. "This sounds absolutely fascinating."

"Very well." Sherlock lit his pipe and clenched it between his teeth as he prepared to regale the curious duo with that information he had been provided by Winchester, and his own research into the estate before agreeing to accept the invitation for the gathering itself. "The bizarre 'curse' apparently dates back nearly twenty seven years now. The first death took place in the fall when a family friend was offered shelter in the room during a cold rainstorm. The young man, a humble accountant no more than thirty years of age, was found dead in the morning without any sign of previous illness or struggle."

"Oh dear," Burr's curiosity as a doctor had been piqued. "so young and seemingly in good healthy. How unusual."

"Yes, but that is only the beginning." Sherlock stated as he took his pipe from beneath his teeth. "For you see two years afterward Mr. Halstead's cousin and his wife had stayed in the room prior to leaving for Paris for their honeymoon. They too fell to the same mysterious fate with no clue as to the cause of their deaths."

"Good Lord!" Clement cried but then quieted his voice as to avoid waking the estate by mistake. "Three deaths in three years. How bizarre! What else had happened?"

"The room had been left vacated for a full year before the Halstead's allowed another guest to stay inside the room. During the holidays Halstead allowed a young couple traveling abroad to seek shelter during the cold. As you can imagine the same fate awaited the couple. Neither had been in poor health and both were young. Halstead again sealed off the room for a reprieve."

"Five deaths." Burr counted with a somber tone as he shook his head slowly. "Such a shame. And yet, six more people were to meet such a fate."

"Indeed." Sherlock gauged the sincere reactions of the two men as he listed the unfortunate casualties in a scientific manner. "Eight years passed before another victim would fall prey to the cursed room. Despite Mr. Halstead's protests his own father chose to rest in the room for the night and as you can imagine his unfortunate passing had all but shattered Mr. Halstead's psyche."

"No, not his father." Burr was genuinely shaken by the information. "I had not know his father, having never known the cause of his passing and I had foolishly assumed they were estranged."

"Not estranged," Sherlock confirmed with a dour repose. "merely guilt-ridden. For another six years Mr. Halstead kept the room off limits to anyone, even the help, to ensure that no other person would die prematurely in the room. It remained secured for as long until the last Mrs. Halstead had offered the room for a nanny to reside while she tended to the young Miss Marie during her schooling. She too fell victim to the curse over the time of a single night."

"My goodness, seven deaths all taken place in less than a full day." Burr's face showed the same level of interest as Sherlock as he pressed a hand thoughtfully to his chin. "I cannot think of a single illness that could have an effect such as this, and I have been practicing medicine for nearly forty years now."

"Correct you are." Sherlock's reply was curt but meant no disrespect. "Two additional deaths followed within two years: one was that of a maid who had chosen to stay in the fated room during a late night, she had only been employed on the estate for a single week. The same was said for a stable hand who had been offered residence to better tend to the horses who were being boarded before a great race."

"Nine deaths." Clement sounded truly perplexed by the staggering number of victims in such a short amount of time. "And it is safe to presume that the final two deaths on record are that of the late Mrs. Halstead and late Mr. Halstead respectively, right?"

"Correct."

"And there has been no connection between the victims save for the room, is this right?"

"Correct again, Clement."

"You say there was no trace of illness or a sign of struggle, but was there anything of interest at all stored inside the room that could possibly hold the cause?"

Sherlock's eyes twinkled with interest at the questions being presented in such a logical manner. "Only the furniture remained consistent through the years. As you can imagine there was little threat to found in modest furnishings: A bed, a nightstand, a writing desk and a bureau. No weapon could be located within the furnishings nor in an secret compartment concealed within the walls or the floor."

"What is the layout of the room?" Clement asked as his mind began to race with his own possible theories. "Any secret exits that a killer could use to escape?"

"No, not a trace of an intrusion could be identified which rules out a hidden doorway. The room itself is smaller than the rest as during the estate's initial construction that room was built first to allow the own to remain on the property until the entirety of the construction had been finished. Unremarkable in design: a single wooden door and a single narrow window; only three inches wide by twelve inches high, it is impossible for a person or persons to enter or exit the room through such a means."

Watson sounded rather skeptical about the entire scenario. "Really Holmes, how could you possibly know such details beyond that of what little information Winchester had provided only hours before?"

"It's quite simple, Watson." Sherlock replied with a coy smile on his face. "Before we left London, and before we even had accepted the invitation, I had looked into the extensive and dreary history of the Halstead Estate. The shady circumstances that revolve around the estate is what drew my attention and had influenced my decision to accept our invitation."

Burr's eyes lit up with a morbid thought. "Perhaps one of us should spend the night in this 'cursed' room and perform an investigation."

"As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm," Sherlock lamented with a disappointing nix of the idea. "I cannot in good conscience allow you or anyone else to set foot inside the room without any definitive information."

"I hate to remind you of this Mr. Holmes," Burr stubbornly refuted the wise caution. "but I am free to set foot throughout the estate as I see fit."

Sherlock, Watson and Clement were all silent as Burr made his decision without fear, without hesitation. The older doctor had witnessed many atrocities of nature and mankind while also seeing the miraculous as he practiced medicine for the majority of his long life. One so seasoned could not be swayed so easily.

"I shall see to Mr. Winchester for a candle and I shall spend the night in the room. I am certain that one way or another we can find a way to either prove or disprove this frightful 'curse'."

As Burr took his leave of the common room Watson openly disapproved of this rash and impulsive decision. "Holmes, I must protest! This little adventure has gone far enough."

"Now, now," Clement addressed Watson in a calming tone. "let the doctor have his fun. I'm sure if something goes amiss he'll call out for help before anything perilous happens."

"I do not approve." Watson remained steadfast and crossed his arms defensively as he angrily stared down the banker with a stern look normally reserved for the military. "You are potentially gambling with a man's life."

"And it's that man's right to gamble as he sees fit." Clement argued with a pointed finger. "Don't you and Mr. Holmes risk your own lives pursuing criminals that even the police can't track down?"

Sherlock chewed on the end of his pipe as he studied Watson's irritated facade.

"Now, let's just see where this event takes us." Clement again calmed his tone as he lowered his hand. "We can't control Dr. Burr or scold him like a child. Besides, what's to stop him from sneaking into the room later on after we've gone to bed? Then he'd truly be in danger because we'd be asleep without any notion of him being in any possible danger."

"He makes a valid point, Watson." Sherlock agreed with an obstinate tone that silenced any remaining bickering that would have ensued. "It'd best to humor Dr. Burr on this occasion than to allow him to go about it alone."

The sound of dual footsteps sounded off from the depths of the estate as Burr and Winchester returned to the common area. The caretaker was holding a silver colored candle in a brass chamberstick as he walked alongside the doctor was an uneasy glaze over his previously bright eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" Winchester asked as he handed the candle to the doctor. "That room... there is something... evil."

"I'm positive." Burr retorted sharply as he took the candle for himself. "I shall sit up all night in the room and by morning we shall know for certain if the curse is in fact proven true or false. Might I have a match?"

Winchester reached into his coat pockets and retrieved a small parcel of matches. As he offered the requested item to the doctor he gave a wearily glance up the stairs and shuddered a little. "I wish for you the best."

"Thank you my good man." Burr accepted the matches and made his way up the stairs slowly. "I shall sleep well, I am sure. If I feel at all unsafe I will call out for assistance, to which will undoubtedly come to my rescue."

"Of course." Watson called out as Burr reached the top of the staircase. "We shall be upon the door at the very moment of your summons."

Sherlock watched the doctor until his body was completely out of sight at the top of the stairs and around the corridor as he strode confidently down the corridor. "Well gentlemen, shall we take watch in turn?"

"No, sir!" Winchester interrupted with a shaky voice. "I cannot sleep a wink knowing that the doctor is in that room! I shall keep vigil all the night long. Every hour I will check upon the doctor just in case, I swear it."

"Very well." Sherlock's eyes were focused, his mind overflowing with thought as he accepted Winchester's offer. "If there should come a disturbance-"

"I will call out with all my might for help."

"Good man." Sherlock nodded as he took his pipe from his teeth. "On that note I feel the need to retire for the evening. Goodnight gentlemen, I hope to see you all in good spirits in the morning."

"So do I." Watson scoffed as he followed Sherlock up the stairs. The duo passed by the door of the cursed room, only the faintest glow from the light of candle escaped beneath the narrow crack beneath the wooden door. Watson knocked once on the door to address Dr. Burr on the other side. "Goodnight, Dr Burr."

"Goodnight, Dr. Watson." Burr replied calmly from within the room. "Sleep well."

Sherlock opened the door to his room and waited for Watson to do the same. "Do not mistake my yielding to Dr. Burr's request as indifference to his safety, Watson. Regardless of our opinions on the matter Dr. Burr would have spent the night in the room just as Clement stated."

"I certainly hope you're not using a stubborn old as a test subject!" Watson refuted with an embittered scowl. "But I suppose you are correct. Speaking as a physician myself I can confirm that doctors can be quite inflexible once they've made a decision."

Sherlock grinned lightly before stepping through the doorway into his room. "Don't I know it."

* * *

The night had progressed without any disturbances or pleas for help from the cursed room. True to his word Winchester checked in on Dr. Burr hourly to ensure that the good doctor was unharmed, and with each visit the doctor appeared to be sleeping peacefully in the bed with the gentle glow of the continuously shrinking candle basking his resting form in an amber hue.

Sherlock awoke first and dressed quickly before standing before the closed door to the 'cursed' room. It wasn't long before Watson and Clement joined him outside the door.

"Is Dr. Burr is well?" Watson asked as he stood at Sherlock's side eagerly.

"I was just moments away from finding that out for myself."

Winchester rushed up the staircase and joined the trio outside the door. "It is morning. Let's check in with Dr. Burr." With a trembling hand he took ahold of the brass handle and pushed the door open without invitation. "Dr. Burr? It is morning good sir."

There was no response from the doctor as he laid on his side with his back to the now opened door. A small plume of thinning smoke billowed from the charred wick of the now fully consumed candle on the nightstand next to the bed.

"Dr. Burr?" Winchester stepped into the room, his hand tentatively reaching out for the doctor's shoulder and grabbing firmly to shake. A sense of dread filled the room as the doctor remained eerily silent where he lay. "Doctor? Doctor!"

Sherlock and Watson made their way into the room and immediately looked over the bed with wide eyed curiosity. As Watson pressed his fingertips to the side of Dr. Burr's neck he whipped his head about to look Sherlock in the eyes. "Holmes, he's dead!"

* * *

It wasn't an hour before the responding authorities had claimed Dr. Raymond Burr's recently deceased body. With Watson as the responding doctor to confirm the man's unfortunate passing the rest of the tenants at the estate were all questioned in turn regarding the events leading to the discovery of the death.

Winchester willingly vouched for the whereabouts of the guests and confirmed that the maids and the cook had all left the property before midnight, their whereabouts after leaving the property being confirmed by their own families.

Sherlock and Watson explained to the authorities the reason behind Dr. Burr's decision to reside in the foreboding room rather than the room that had previously been assigned to him the night before.

Charles and Marie were grief-stricken and terrified to learn of the doctor's passing in the night and swore to find a way to make amends to his surviving family.

Clement was quiet all that morning, his face pale with fear and his voice stolen from him by uncertainty.

Scott and Rachel had decided that once the will was read, a reading that would now take place later in the evening rather than that morning as initially scheduled, that they'd take their leave of the estate while promising to remain discreet about the tragedy to allow the Blanchard's and their illustrious estate to save face.

While the shaken guests had gathered together in the common area to recount the alarming previous night. Sherlock had stationed himself outside of the 'cursed' room with a keen interest in solving the mystery once and for all. Chewing thoughtfully on the pipe clenched between his teeth the smoke plumed and circled around his head like a wisping halo as he studied the interior of the room; his gray eyes fixated on nothing and everything at once.

Seeking council with Sherlock privately Watson ascended the staircase and located his colleague statuesque outside the vilified room.

"Well Watson," Sherlock never tore his eyes away from the room as he sensed his friend approaching. "what can you say of Dr. Burr's untimely death?"

"How did you know it was I?" Watson asked as he joined his friend outside the room.

"The pace of your steps have been slower these past few days as you've elected to leave your cane behind at the flat, and your build creates a deeper echo with each step compared to the other guests who unintentionally rush about in panic on lighter feet. You're a man of calm and patience as has been ingrained in your nature due to your time as a physician and in the military." Taking the pipe from his teeth he pointed at the opened interior of the room and folded his hands behind back, the pipe still creating smoke that drifted upward around his head. "Dr. Burr was alone in the room all night. He was not ill and despite his age in adequate health to survive the night. Just as the previous deaths there has been no sign of a struggle and no obvious cause to link directly to the death."

"Hm, true." Watson sounded irritated as he stared into the room as well. "By all accounts Dr. Burr had died in his sleep from natural causes. The man had developed a sickly gray complexion which is not uncommon when one's heart gives out, but his skin wasn't unnaturally warm from fever which would indicate an infection due to injury or illness."

"Logical deduction Watson, however the timing of the event is too precarious to be coincidence. I wager that the good doctor hadn't succumbed to natural causes but was in fact... murdered."

"Murdered?!" Watson all but spat as the wild claim rang through the corridor. "But... how?"

"Poison."

"Poison? There was no trace of an injection, nor contaminated food or drink to be found. How on the Earth could Dr. Burr have been poisoned?"

"That, my dear Watson, is the true mystery." Fiddling with his pipe Sherlock turned his focus from the room and nodded in the direction of the corridor from whence the two men had walked. "Come Watson, we must gather information."

"Holmes?"

Sherlock didn't reply as he hustled past Watson and descended the stairs with the unbreakable focus of a man on a mission. Keeping himself composed, his motions calm and his overall demeanor complacent the sleuth acknowledged his gracious host with a polite nod.

"Mr. Blanchard."

"Please," Charles walked over to Sherlock standing at the bottom of the staircase leaving the common area behind. On this morning he was walking with far less difficulty and no longer required his cane. "call me Charles. Mr. Holmes what do you make of this bizarre turn of events? Is it true? Is this estate cursed?"

"Gracious, no." Sherlock immediately refuted the claim with a kind smile. "But there is shady business afoot, and I shall seek it out."

"Thank you Mr. Holmes. I shall see that you are paid handsomely!"

"Do not worry about a fee my good man. An innocent person has been an unfortunate demise, and I suspect his death can be linked the previous deaths. If I can at lost solve the unusual mystery that surrounds this property that shall be reward enough."

"Oh? And how can I be of assistance?"

"I will need to speak to the estate's previous caretakers, maids, cooks and nannies. Do you have any means of contacting such personnel?"

"Yes, but no." Charles lowered his voice as he took another step further away from the common area as to keep the conversation from falling onto eavesdropping ears. Watson had now reached the base of the staircase and stood idle as he joined the dark conversation. "You see, those who had provided service previously to the estate have either passed on due to old age or fled the property out of fear of their own lives. The only constant employee of the estate who could provide you with an even a modicum of information is Winchester himself."

"Then that is where I shall begin my investigation." Sherlock gave Watson a confident glance. "And where might we locate Mr. Winchester?"

"He usually keeps to himself in the unused stable at the rear of the property. According to my wife Winchester never cared for staying in the estate as he too was... unsettled by the string of unfortunate events that had transpired over the years."

"Very good." Sherlock took his leave of the estate with Watson at his side. "Thank you for your aid Charles. I shall report back once I've gathered enough information to form a working theory."

* * *

The exterior property of the estate in the rear was just as expansive and glorious as it appeared in the front. Additional rose trestles snaked along two large pillars that supported a small balcony placed over the rear doorway, while providing a lengthy stone pathway of pure white stones the leads out in the heart of Mrs. Blanchard's beloved garden of wildflowers. Midway the path branched off and stretched out to the currently vacated horse stable where Winchester resided while staying on the property.

Entering the stable Sherlock and Watson passed by the empty stalls that would otherwise contain prized horses between races or shows. Rope, bridles and saddles all hung from the rafters above. Four small lanterns hung from nails that lined the two long walls of the stable and burned brightly with a white candle contained within each lantern.

It was at the rear of the stable did the duo locate the small living quarters where Winchester had chosen to isolate himself.

"Winchester?" Sherlock called out as he rapped his knuckles twice against the close wooden door. "Might we have a word with you?"

The door creaked slowly as Winchester peered through the partially opened door. Once he recognized the faces of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson he pulled the door open fully with a relieved sigh. "Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson. How can I help you on this dreadful morning?"

"We wished to inquire about the 'curse' of the estate." Sherlock replied as he stepped inside the room. A single bed, a small dresser, a shaving kit sitting upon a table with a large mirror, and hundreds of candles that Winchester himself had made were stacked in crates against the walls. The smell of hot wax, mixed with an acrid stench similar to garlic, filled the air and stains of white wax were all over the furniture. "You're the sole employee who has spent their entire career present on the estate while the supposed 'curse' has been in play. What can you tell us?"

"I promise you sir," Winchester straightened his posture and smoothed out his shirt by brushing his hands down the fabric quickly. "I've told you that I know."

"I no doubt that you've told me all that you feel comfortable to tell my while in the immediate company of Mister and Missus Blanchard, but you have not told us everything. Please, while you have the chance to speak to us in private, divulge any and all information that you felt the need to keep concealed for the sake of your employers." Sherlock raised a hand as if to silence the already quiet caretaker before he even had the chance to speak. "I will admit to knowing a great deal of the previous deaths of the estate due to my own private research prior to this gathering. If you'd be so kind as to fill in the details otherwise missing from the newspaper articles I will be on my way."

Nervously Winchester's shoulders sagged as he sat on the edge of his bed and looked up at Sherlock and then over to Watson. "If I tell you this information you must swear it that you will not tell the others. I doubt Marie would be able to handle the scandal."

Watson nodded once in agreement. "We shall keep this secret as discreet as you have."

"Thank you, doctor." Winchester took a deep breath to steady himself, his hands nervously fidgeting as he absentmindedly began picking at bits of silver colored wax from beneath his fingernails. "Yes. There is more to the story of the estate's curse than I initially told you. You see, there is connection amongst the deaths beyond the single shared room."

"Oh?" Watson was now as intrigued as Sherlock had been all morning. "Do tell."

"The deaths, they were not random. They were intentional. You see," Winchester locked eyes with Sherlock and refused to let his gaze waver. "the victims were all considered enemies to the estate."

"Enemies?" Watson questioned with a righteous skepticism. "How so?"

"The first death, it was of an accountant, and this poor young man had the misfortune of being assigned to Mr. Halstead's affairs."

"The late James Halstead was dealing under the table." Sherlock proclaimed without the slightest inkling of hesitation in his voice.

"Y-Yes." Winchester confirmed with shock. "How did you..."

"Mr. Halstead had acquired a vast fortune in a very short span of time by boarding horses. One does not gain lucrative funds by tending to equestrian needs alone. I surmise that the estate was built not only to house those who were employed under Halstead but to conceal an underground gambling operation. Hence the numerous guests rooms and rather large dining hall."

"Yes..." Winchester's demeanor tensed considerably. "Mr. Halstead would host poker tournaments between show events and races to secure constant funds for himself and his wife. When the accountant had noticed the illegal gains he was prepared to report the activities to the authorities but failed to do so after remaining in the estate on that fateful night."

"I see..." Sherlock studied Winchester's demeanor thoroughly. Every expression, every muscle tic was taken into account. "Please continue."

"Mr. Halstead's cousin, who was newly wed, had asked for a loan to pay for the wedding. He too found out about the gambling and tried to blackmail Mr. Halstead. His cousin, and his unfortunate new bride, were offered the room for a night and never awoke the next morning."

"My word..." Watson was openly upset about the needless deaths. He shifted his weight awkwardly as he planted his feet in the doorway.

"And as I'm sure you already know, Mr. Holmes, a young couple traveling through the country had found their way to the estate. But they were not strangers. No, this young couple was the sister to the accountant and her husband. She had come seeking answers about her brother and Mr. Halstead feared she may discover his secret."

"Hm, a pattern of contemptible behavior from a man bearing paranoid delusions. Most curious." Sherlock observed with a cold facade. "Please, go on."

"Very well." Winchester brushed the flakes of loose wax from his clothing as he went into great detail. "Mr. Halstead's own father had grown suspicious of his son's good fortune. When he asked Mr. Halstead about his financial gain it was not a shock to learn of the death of the senior Halstead shortly thereafter."

"Good heavens. Patricide!" Watson sounded almost sickened by the revelation.

"It did not end there." Winchester resumed speaking, his voice unsteady with a nervous stutter. "When Marie was but a young child Mr. Halstead had hired the services of a nanny. A nanny with whom Mr. Halstead engaged in an 'explicit' affair. When the nanny threatened to expose his infidelity Mr. Halstead convinced her to reconsider by offering her a large sum of cash for as long as she remained on the property for one additional night. Of course he assigned her to the one 'cursed' room."

"The fiend." Watson angrily spat.

"Easy Watson." Sherlock calmed with a low tone. "We mustn't judge too harshly. Mr. Winchester, please finish your story."

"Well, the same fate awaited a young chambermaid who had been seduced by Mr. Halstead's charms. And then a stablehand who had been hired for same season to assist in boarding the horses had been caught snooping through Mr. Halstead's study by Mr. Halstead himself. As you've surely surmised the standlehand was locked away in the room for the night."

Watson shook his head in disdain. "This Mr. Halstead was apparently quite the malicious deviant."

"Apparently." Sherlock parroted coyly. "Any further details, Winchester?"

"Yes. But only of more recent events. Mrs. Halstead had begun feeling the ill effects of advanced age and had begun looking into her husband's financial status to ensure their only child, Marie, would be taken care of in the event her passing. Mr. Halstead did not appreciate his wife going through his papers and insisted that she stay in the room to quarantine herself after catching a mild fever on a cold night."

"His own wife..." Watson was openly disgusted by the horrific actions of a single man.

"And the most recent death was that of Mr. Halstead himself." Winchester concluded in a somber tone. "To what his method was for eliminating the people who threatened his fortune we may never know. Mr. Halstead had chosen to take his life in the same fashion, and with his death his secrets died along with him. But I no doubt know that Clement as been snooping about! I don't trust him. I think he and Halstead had been plotting together... I don't like it."

"I see..." Sherlock seemed to have developed a theory and perhaps even a conclusion to the bizarre mystery at hand. "Now, for one last detail: during the time of the supposed 'curse' had anything in the room ever been changed? The furniture, the door, the window?"

"No sir. You can even look into the estate's original blueprints and see that the building had remained as built since it's initial construction. As for the furniture it had been chosen by Mr. Halstead himself and has remained in the room ever since. Unchanged. Unmoved."

"Very good." Sherlock took a step back out of the room and motioned for Watson to follow. "Thank you Mr. Winchester. You've been invaluable to the case."

"You're welcome Mr. Holmes, and please," he called out as Sherlock and Watson retreated from the stable. "do not tell Marie."

* * *

Rejoining the gathered guests in the common area of the estate Sherlock kept true to his word and did not speak of the damning information that Winchester had confided with the sleuth against the late Mr. Halstead, and was as civil toward Mrs. Marie Blanchard as he had ever been the previous day. Watson too remained kind and professional as the lawyer, Mr. Scott, readied himself to read the will.

"Excellent timing, gentlemen." Scott greeted the duo as they returned to the group. "If we might gather in the dining hall we can begin-"

"Might I make a suggestion?" Sherlock unexpectedly interrupted the legal affair with a firm voice. "Perhaps it'd be best to wait until the next morning to read the will. After all, Mr. Burr has only recently passed and I'm sure our hosts would greatly appreciate a brief respite to recover from such a dreadful shock."

Charles gave Sherlock a shrewd smile before replying. "Thank you Mr. Holmes, but I'm certain Marie and I would rather-"

"Oh, but Charles!" Marie grabbed onto Charles' hand and held tightly. "I'm not feeling quite well. I would so enjoy a nice rest before we must deal with such legal frivolities."

"You're certain?"

"Quite." Marie confirmed. A faint blush appeared on her face as she spoke to her husband. "And if you'll excuse me, I would like to lay down until I'm feeling well again."

"Very well, my dear." Charles put his arm around her shoulders. "I shall see you to bed. Perhaps this evening you'll be well enough to join us for dinner?"

"Of course." She turned to look at her guests before she was guided out of the room. "Please forgive me."

Watson elected to offer his services as a physician to Mrs. Blanchard and helped Mr. Blanchard escort her to a more secluded area of the estate to rest for a moment.

"While Mrs. Blanchard recovers from her unfortunate bout of illness, I urge everyone to try to proceed with as usual a routine as possible." Sherlock kindly pressed as he himself retreated to the second floor to reside in some privacy in his room and bid the rest of the guests farewell. "Until this evening, ladies and gentlemen."

* * *

From his room Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed with his pipe in hand as he closed his eyes and listened to the muffled voice speaking on the floor below him. The gathered guests were already shaken and confused by the dark turn of events, and the sudden illness that seemed to be plaguing Mrs. Blanchard only unsettled their nerves further.

There was a gentle knock on the door as Watson entered the room with a somewhat relieved look on his face. "Mrs. Blanchard is recovering just fine. She will be joining us for dinner in a moment."

"Grand." Sherlock's gray eyes opened slowly. "And as addition to this good news I can tell you that I am almost certain to have identified the cause of the supposed 'curse', and by nightfall and I shall have deduced the identity of the real killer."

"Deduced the identity? But is Mr. Halstead-"

"By all account for the previous deaths, it is entirely possibly that the late Mr. Halstead was indeed responsible, but for the death of Dr. Burr, impossible!"

"But that means-"

A second knock on the door stopped Watson midsentence as Winchester gently opened the door. "Gentlemen, dinner is prepared. Will you join us?"

"Of course." Sherlock rose from the bed and pocketed his pipe. "Shall we, Watson?"

"Certainly. Let's hope this even transpires quickly so that we may leave this dreadful weekend as nothing more than a unfortunate memory."

* * *

The dining room was adorned with a feast just a grand as the meal served the previous night. One less guest sat at the table which only emphasized the grim reality of Dr. Burr's fate. Charles and Marie continued their roles as gracious and generous hosts, the young couple showing a suddenly spirited demeanor as Marie had recovered from her illness.

Winchester continued his role serving the guests in turn, attempting to offer a unique type of dressing to Mr. Blanchard's meal, but the offer was negated much to Winchester's chagrin. "Thank you Winchester, but my stomach has just begun to settle. I would prefer to avoid anything spicy."

"I understand." The melancholy caretaker shuffled about quietly as the rest of the guests dined in palpable silence. "And for you Mrs. Blanchard? Wine?"

"Oh no, no wine for me tonight." She smiled at Charles and took his hand in her own, squeezing tightly as he gave her the same grin.

The affectionate display apparently offended Winchester as he huffed away from the hosts of the gathering and made his way along the rest of the table to other guests who were as quiet as the night itself. Even Clement, the overly enthusiastic and loudest of the guests, remained silent much to everyone's pleasure.

Clement's eyes darted back and forth over the dining room, his gaze never fixating on anyone or anything for more than a few seconds.

Scott; the late Mr. Halstead's personal lawyaer, had sat down at the table with a his leather briefcase at his side, his hand nervously holding onto Rachel's under the table. Clearing his throat Scott addressed the room in a stalwart voice. "Well, seeing as we're gathered together it would be most prevalent to read the will and to-"

"Just one moment." Sherlock interrupted without warning. "Might I inquire as to whether or not the will has been altered in light of Dr. Burr's untimely passing?"

"Well, no." Scott answered with a mild blush on his face. "We hadn't the proper time to-"

"Do not fret." Sherlock stated boldly as he felt all eyes fall upon him curiously. "While both Mr. and Mrs. Blanchard are in attendance with numerous witnesses I believe that now would be the most appropriate time to make such adjustments. During this time I'd like the chance to test a theory."

"A theory?" Watson questioned while the rest of the guests waited for the response with bated breath.

"Yes. As to how Mr. Burr met his demise."

Winchester suddenly stiffened and became quite anxious. "Surely Mr. Holmes you don't intend to-"

"I do." Sherlock confirmed as he rose from his seat. "I too shall spend the night in the 'cursed' room."

"Holmes!" Watson protested immediately at the very idea of him risking his life to test a simple theory. "Don't be reckless!"

"Not to worry Watson." Sherlock tried to ease his colleague's righteous concerns. "I shall prevail. All that I require is a light and time alone in the room."

"But, Mr. Holmes..." Marie was absolutely frightened on the detective's behalf. "if something were to happen to you..."

"I will be alright my dear. I believe time in the room shall provide the final clue to solve this mystery. I must insist that you allow me this time and trust me."

"You I do trust," Marie stated sincerely. "but that room..."

Sherlock gave the worried woman a reassuring glance. "It is only a room. Please. I must be permitted to perform my test."

"I... Very well." Charlies acquiesced with a heavy heart. "I cannot restrict your movements anymore than I can prevent the sun from setting. If you wish to lock yourself in the room then do so with the utmost caution!"

"I shall do just that. Watson," he put his hand on Watson's shoulder and shook lightly. "you'll remain vigil at the door, will you not?"

"Of course! I would not dream of allowing you to partake of such a risky venture alone."

"Good. Then it is settled."

Winchester sighed heavily as he turned on his heels to exit the dining hall. "Very well. I shall fetch you a candle."

As the caretaker took his leave Sherlock's eyes lit up with excitement. The game had been afoot since the duo set foot on the estate, but now the identity of the game that they were unwillingly playing would soon be revealed.

* * *

Sherlock stood in the center of the 'cursed' room with his hands folded behind his back and his smoking pipe in place between his teeth. Watson stood outside the still opened door of the room watching his friend nervously when Winchester arrived with a silver candle in his hand. Offering the candle to Sherlock he nervously backed away and left the two sleuths alone to the potentially lethal experiment that Sherlock was bound and determined to undertake.

"I will not be held responsible!" Winchester stated as he begrudgingly gave away the candle and took his leave. "I won't!"

Taking the provided candle and setting it down on the nightstand beside the bed Sherlock withdrew a book of matches from his pocket and took a single match to strike. "You understand your role, do you not Watson?"

"Of course. I shall remain in your room next door and listen for any sign of distress or other disturbances."

"Correct." Sherlock struck the match causing it to erupt in a burst of orange as a single flame ignited. Using it to light the candle Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and straightened his posture as he took his pocketwatch from it place and noted the time. "It is now six o'clock in the evening. Check in with me at midnight, regardless of the situation."

"You have my word."

"Good man." Sherlock returned the pocketwatch to its rightful place and began studying the room in the eerie candlelight. "I will see you at midnight."

"Midnight it is. Be well."

"I shall try to endeavor."

Watson reluctantly closed the door to the 'cursed' room leaving Sherlock alone to endure the very experiment that could bring peace to the Halstead Estate, or could end the career of the most iconic detective to ever grace the streets of London.

Remaining where he sat on the bed in the empty, closed room, Sherlock eyed the interior warily in the dancing candlelight as he boldly put his life in danger to solve the mystery of the Halstead Estate Curse. Eerie shadows cast by the sparse furniture were motionless along the walls as the small room had not the proper window size to allow even the slightest breeze to pass through. The air became uncomfortably warm and felt painfully still against the detective's already dry skin.

Fiddling with his pipe Sherlock examined the rather dull room and commented aloud to himself on the aesthetic. "Perhaps the victims of the 'curse' merely passed away from sheer boredom."

* * *

Watson had retired to the room that had been offered to Sherlock due its immediate proximity to the 'cursed' room where Sherlock himself had elected to stay for the night. Sitting in a chair pressed up against the wall connecting the two rooms Watson opened a large, old medical text book and began reading through the aged but still relevant pages depicting techniques and medication that only the most seasoned of physicians could understand.

The minutes ticked by slowly, gradually and mercifully transitioning into hours passed. There was no sound coming from the 'cursed' room, only the muffled voices speaking lowly from the first floor below, and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

Looking up briefly Watson saw the current hour displayed on the clock's face and resumed reading his book in an attempt to remain awake and alert.

* * *

Sherlock leaned forward on the bed with his hand pressed to the side of his head as gnawing pain set in over the hours. Unable to deduce whether or not the headache was the result of uncomfortable air in the room or the painfully dull atmosphere, he pulled his pocketwatch from his coat and noted the time with a heavy grimace.

The candle had burned nearly a quarter of its length, the wax dripping down the stem and onto the brass fixture that supported it.

"Fifteen pass eight." Sighing with an indifferent huff he pocketed the watch once again and attempted to fill his pipe with the small amount of tobacco he had remaining in the tin in his breast pocket. "I can only hope Watson is enjoying himself more than I."

* * *

Ten o'clock in the evening.

His head bobbing up and down awoke Watson as he realized that he was beginning to fall prey to sleep. Readjusting himself where he sat to place his body in a slightly uncomfortable position to fight off sleep for a while more the stubborn doctor resumed reading while also checking the time on the clock to remind himself to check in on Sherlock at the appointed time.

"Two more hours." Watson grumbled to himself as he turned a page in the book with little interest in finishing. "Soon enough, I suppose."

* * *

Sweat was beading on Sherlock's forehead and beginning to run down the side of his face as he leaned forward on the bed, one arm wrapped around his abdomen and his hand clutching desperately at his pipe as he tried to puff on his smoldering pipe. His heart began to pound in his chest as he fought to remain vigil in the painfully dull room as his entire body began to steadily ache with an unknown pain.

"Just..." Pulling his pocketwatch from his coat he stared at the time, his eyes struggling to focus on the numbers as his head began to pound as violently as his heart. "Just under an hour left... No sign of... a killer."

The candle had burned itself down to beyond half of its original length. The silver dyed wax began to pool over the fixture and drip down onto the nightstand in steady drops.

"No sign of..." Sherlock's body began to tremble, his pipe falling from his teeth and dropping to the floor. Tufts of burned tobacco spilled out onto the floor all around Sherlock's feet. "...W-Watson."

Attempting to get to his feet Sherlock fell forward onto the floor as he collapsed into a heap in the center of the room landing partially on his side and chest. His hand reached upward into the nothingness desperately trying to reach out for something, anything to grab onto.

"...Watson!" His voice was a hoarse whisper and unable to call out to anyone within earshot. Hand falling limp onto the floor Sherlock's head hit the hard wood. His final lucid thought before he lost consciousness was for his partner. "...W-Watson."

* * *

The book in Watson's hands fell heavily to the floor with an audible 'thud' as the good doctor had temporarily drifted off to sleep. The sound of the dropped book startled him awake and caused him to stand up from the chair as he looked to the clock in the corner and noted the late hour of the night.

"Almost ten before midnight." Watson pulled on the front of his clothing to straighten out the wrinkles that had formed as he drifted off to sleep in the chair. "I best check on Holmes."

Pushing open the door to the room slowly he peered his head out and checked down the corridor in both directions to ensure that no one had been spying on the duo or sneaking about in an attempt to attack Sherlock locked away in the 'cursed' room. There was no sign of an lurking deviants in the shadows or hunkering down in the distance allowing Watson clear passage to the 'cursed' room.

Knocking on the closed door Watson called out to his friend on the other side. "Holmes?" No reply came from within the room and it immediately formed a knot in the pit of Watson's stomach. "Holmes. Please answer."

The silence on the other side of the door was palpable.

Without waiting for an invitation to enter Watson pushed open the door and looked inside the room. "Holmes?" Sherlock wasn't sitting on the edge of the bed any longer, nor was he standing by the walls or doorway. But the outline of a dark figure slumped on the floor stole his attention as he realized that figure was in fact a body. "Holmes!"

Falling to his knees beside Sherlock's body Watson pressed his hand down onto Sherlock's back between his shoulders and felt a twinge of relief as he realized there was still heat radiating from his body and he could feel weak breaths causing his chest to slowly rise and fall.

"Holmes?" Carefully Watson rolled Sherlock from his side and onto his back before he pressed his ear down to Sherlock's chest. Though feeble there was still a distinct beat as his heart continued to thrum with life inside chest. "I must get you out of here! I'll take you into my room."

Grabbing Sherlock's arm and draping it over his shoulders Watson managed to lift his friend's unconscious form up from the floor and heft onto his feet. The forceful gesture was enough to rouse Sherlock back into a very light consciousness as Watson carried him out of the room.

"...Watson."

"I have you Holmes," Watson replied quickly as he carried Sherlock into his room across the hall from the 'cursed' room. "do not worry."

Pushing open the door with one hand Watson ushered Sherlock inside hastily. A white candle had been left burning all evening long and had burned down to half of its length, providing the room with an amber light that was as bright as it was hot.

"...Poison." Sherlock managed to utter as Watson carried him over to the bed and laid him down onto his back. "...Arsenic."

"Arsenic?"

"Quickly, the antidote!" Sherlock urged as he laid on his back and began breathing deeply with panting gasps as he fought to catch his breath while enduring the horrific abdominal pains that were overwhelmingly stifling. What little consciousness he had regained faded away as swiftly as it returned.

Watson knelt at the end of Sherlock's bed and opened the leather bag that contained the numerous samples of chemicals, medicines and anti-toxins that Sherlock always brought with him during his travels. Pulling out a vial that contained Selenium to counteract the symptoms, that is, if it's administered in time, Watson loaded a sterilized syringe and returned to Sherlock's side.

"This won't hurt." Watson stated as he rolled Sherlock's sleeve upward to expose the Cephalic vein in the bend of his right arm and held the limb outward in his strong grip. With the precision of a true marksman Watson inserted the needle into Sherlock's vein and administered the antidote into his poisoned system.

Sherlock's body relaxed as Watson laid his arm back down but kept hold of his wrist to count his pulse along with the ticking of his own pocketwatch.

"Just rest my friend," Watson encouraged as he draped Sherlock's arm over his torso and returned his pocketwatch to his coat pocket. "I'll watch over you."

* * *

It was nearly dawn when Sherlock began to rouse again from his state of unconscious. Too pained and too exhausted to move about he could only turn his head on his pillow and focus on Watson who was leaning against the dresser in the room. The good doctor hadn't slept all the night as he kept vigil over Sherlock; his friend and his patient.

"Sherlock? How do you feel?" Watson's eyes met Sherlock's eyes as his friend awoke at last.

"I feel... horrendous." He smiled a little from where he laid. "I must look a sight for you to address me by my Christian name."

"I don't understand." Watson stared at his friend from where he stood. The flickering glow of the candle from the nearby nightstand gave Watson an ethereal appearance as he stood over his sick friend. "How could you have been poisoned? Were you attacked?"

"No. No one entered the room prior to your return."

"It couldn't have been administered through anything that was served at the dinner. We at the same thing and I am not ill, and you hadn't mentioned your desire to stay in the room until well after we had been served."

Sherlock sighed and turned his head again, this time to the candle burning beside him on the nightstand. The white wax of the melting candle puddled all around the brass fixture in a pearl colored hue as the candle had nearly burned itself to the end of its lifespan.

"Watson..." Sherlock weakly propped himself up on his elbow as he stared at the candle. "I believe I have the solution."

* * *

As per Sherlock's request as soon as the sun began to rise Watson had awoken the estate and asked everyone to gather in the common area while Sherlock himself still recovered from his poisoning only hours before. It was an abrupt if not completely rude awakening but the compliance was unanimous as the desire to understand what was happening on the estate was more powerful than any desire to sleep.

Watson had placed his and Sherlock's bags at the base of the staircase as instructed, though he was unsure as to why Sherlock wanted their baggage placed accordingly.

"Dr. Watson," Charles and Marie were the first to set foot in the common area. "has Mr. Holmes unraveled the mystery?"

"We shall see soon enough." Watson purposefully answered in a cryptic manner as a means of delaying the revelation until all of the guests had been gathered.

Clement soon entered the room, his entire demeanor had changed from that of a boorish loudmouth to a man of great respect. Mr. and Mrs. Scott joined the group and were followed by Winchester as well as a single maid who arrived by dawn to prepare her morning routine.

"Ah, good. We've all arrived." Watson announced rather loudly as he crossed the common area as to block off the only means of entering or exiting the room. "Once Holmes joins us we can at last put to bed the unusual circumstances we've found ourselves."

Sherlock kept one arm wrapped around his abdomen as he descended the stairs slowly as he fought to keep his balance in lieu of his wavering strength and lingering pain from the arsenic still residing in his system. "Ladies. Gentlemen. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Mr. Holmes," Charles called out in response calmly. "is it true? Have you solved the mystery?"

"It is true, Mr. Blanchard." Sherlock confirmed as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "And I can prove that the rumored 'curse' is nothing more than that, a rumor."

"Oh? Will you please explain?"

"Gladly." Standing on shaky legs his pale facade was truly unnerving as the detective had been seen as nearly indestructible in the eyes of the guests who had the honor of meeting him. "I can say with the utmost confidence that the 'curse' is false, but with this confidence comes the egregious knowledge of confirming that there is in fact amongst us... a murderer."

"A murderer?!" Charles nearly shouted in shock. "Here?!"

"Yes, I'm afraid." Sherlock reaffirmed with Watson at his side. "And I can identify the murderer quite easily."

"Please." Marie spoke up and wrapped her arm around Charles' arm in worry. "Tell us what you've discovered."

"Very well." Planting his feet firmly Sherlock began his explanation with the utmost clarity in voice. "As I've stated the 'curse' is but a ruse, and this ruse had been expertly applied by a malicious killer as a means of hiding their crimes. While taking part in my research of the history of the estate it occurred to me that the deaths were too timely to have been a coincidence."

Clement crossed his arms skeptically. "How so?"

"To have a person pass away in their sleep is not uncommon, regardless of age. The same room to house more than one death is coincident, but to have it occur in a single location time and time again is the beginning of a pattern rather than a harmless coincidence. The deaths took place just two years after the estate's initial construction, just under one year after the staff had begun their employment under the late Mr. Halstead."

"The help?" Mr. Scott sounded absolutely bewildered by the comment. "Mr. Halstead employed a killer to dispose of his enemies?"

"Oh no, nothing so clever." Sherlock responded without a trace of doubt in his voice. "The deaths were reportedly threats to Mr. Halstead, hence their murders. But in fact the threats weren't against Halstead at all, but to his partner."

"Partner?" Clement wasn't convinced. "What partner? Halstead built his fortune alone."

"That is what the reports would have you believe as it is what his partner wanted." Sherlock explained coyly. "You see, it was the partner who was responsible for the finances that flowed into Halstead's favor. While Halstead tended to the surface activities of a professional equestrian boarder his partner maintained the underground gambling ring."

Marie's eyes went wide with shock. "Gambling? How dreadful! I never knew..."

"As I imagined your father had wanted. I am so sorry for you to find out in this manner, but it is the truth." Sherlock turned his attention to the other guests in the common area. "Your father had kept the secret not to protect his reputation, but that of his wife and young daughter. His partner, however, cared little about the well-being of others; the fiend cared only for his own benefit."

"Who is this mysterious partner?" Clement pressed anxiously. "Tell us!"

"Very well." Sherlock lifted his hand and pointed to a single person in the center of the common area. "There is your murderer."

The group turned their focus in turn and eyed the culprit who had been identified by Sherlock Holmes: Mr. Bernard Winchester.

"Winchester?!" Marie nearly fainted at the very idea. "But... but he's been a friend of the family for years!"

"Precisely." Sherlock tensed as he saw the caretaker back away from the group with a hostile glare burning in his eyes. "Aside from the deaths repeatedly taking place in the single 'cursed' room, the other common factors in this equation are the silver candles and the loyal caretaker; Winchester."

"But... how?" Watson asked in a tone just as shocked as Marie's. "We've eliminated the poison being administered through ingestion, how did he do it?"

"Through the use of aerosolized poison contained within the very candles that he made by hand."

"The... candles?"

"Indeed. I noted that the color of the wax used to make the candles are white throughout the entire estate, save for the 'cursed' room. Candles provided by Winchester upon request to stay in the room."

"But," Clement inquired wisely. "how do you know that he alone is responsible for the manufacturing of the candles?"

"The wax itself." Sherlock stated smugly as he pointed the drops of silver wax that stain Winchester's shoes. "It is fresh which means the candles were recently molded. "The candles were dyed as such to isolate the safe candles from the tainted candles. And as the silver candles burned the poison, arsenic, was released slowly."

"How could someone receive a fatal dose of poison if the poison itself was airborne?" Clement questioned again, his tone carrying an unusual sense of authority as opposed to his previously abrasive attitude. "And why would so many people sleep with a still burning candle at their bedside?"

"The suffocating darkness, the small area and poor ventilation of the 'cursed' room ensured that the poison remained consistence and allowed the poison to remain potent enough to kill a person as they slept. Most ingenious I must admit."

Winchester scoffed arrogantly. "You cannot prove anything! This is all circumstantial!"

"By all outward appearances, yes. But you all but confessed to Watson and myself when we spoke with you yesterday out in the stable house."

"I don't-"

"Allow me to clarify: You stated the family history with great detail and knowledge while the detail itself claimed that Mr. Halstead had a nasty streak of killing those who knew too much about his illicit affairs. Then how is it, a man who had known the supposed killer for years and had become knowledgeable of his darkest secrets was spared the same fate of those who were just passing by?"

"I... Well..."

"But this lapse is judgment is not what sealed your fate," Sherlock emphasized with a stern tone. "it was your attempt on Mr. Blanchard's life."

"Wha- me?!" Charles was ostensibly stunned by the accusation. "Me? Winchester tried to poison me?"

"He tried and nearly succeeded." Sherlock as he took in a pained breath before resuming his explanation. "When Watson and I first arrived you had been supporting yourself on a cane due to severe stomach cramps. The stomach cramps weren't caused by an ill prepared meal, but by one that had been tainted by Charles as the cramps are a symptom of arsenic poisoning: a symptom to which I myself am now very familiar."

Clement still wasn't entirely convinced. "How can you be certain that it was Winchester who slipped the poison into his food?"

"While most arsenic is untraceable through taste or smell there are some instances of the poison emitting a scent reminiscent of garlic. That very odor was pungent in the stable despite the lack of vegetation and could be detected in the dressing that Winchester had offered to Charles, and Charles alone last night during dinner."

"But... why?" Marie asked with tears in her eyes as she hung heavily on Charles' arm and looked at Winchester with utmost pain in her heart. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Sherlock interjected before Winchester had the chance to lie. "Because he sought the ill gotten fortune your father acquired for himself. By eliminating those who could possibly be named beneficiaries to the will long before Halstead even made out his Final Will and Testament he could ensure that a vast majority of the fortune remained in his grasp. But despite his greed he was unable to poison you, my dear." Sherlock kindly put his hand on Marie's arm. "Instead he chose to poison your husband with the intent to take advantage of your pain once widowed."

Scott finally found his voice and addressed the situation. "That is a very fine theory Mr. Holmes, but how can you prove it? There is no physical evidence."

"But there is." Sherlock curtly replied. "A simple test of the candles will detect the arsenic and a blood sample provided by myself, Mr. Blanchard and the last Dr. Burr will do the same. I also suspect that the arsenic itself will be located in the stable."

Winchester tried to push through the room but Watson stopped him with a strong hand to the shoulder. "This is madness! You cannot arrest me, you are not the authorities!"

"No," Clement stepped forward with a police shield raised in his right hand. His New York accent had lessened significantly until it faded entirely into a pure Scottish accent as he introduced himself. "but I can. Detective Markus O'Neil, Scotland Yard." Pocketing his shield he produced a pair of handcuffs and secured them quickly around Winchester's wrists. "Well done Mr. Holmes. I wish I could've told of my undercover operation earlier, but as you well know-"

"Yes, quite." Sherlock and Watson stepped aside as O'Neil led the arrested murdered away from the common area. "I had my suspicions as to your true character which is why you were eliminated as a suspect."

"Oh? How did you know?"

"Your behavior was most unbecoming of a banker, even one from America. Relying heavily too much on theatrics for your cover nearly exposed your operation, while also being unable to break the habit of constantly scanning the area for suspicious persons of interest. I suggest you attempt a different false identity for any future undercover cases."

"Yes, I'll keep that in mind. Thank you Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson." O'Neil pushed Winchester through the door. "I had made contact with Scotland Yard once Watson asked us to gather, we shall ensure that Winchester is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

"Thank you, detective." Sherlock acknowledged the uncover officer as he escorted Winchester off of the property and met the responding authorities as they rushed up the front walk. A passenger carriage had arrived shortly after the authorities and was waiting along the front drive for the passengers who requested it. "Right on time." Sherlock motioned toward the carriage with an opened hand. "Now, Watson, shall we return to our humble flat on Baker Street? I am still feeling rather unwell and would thoroughly enjoy a good night's rest."

"Yes, yes. Of course." Watson put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder in a supportive manner as his instincts as a doctor kicked in full force. Sherlock would still need to be monitor after enduring the poison, though he seemed to be faring rather well at the moment. "We should leave immediately."

"But Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson!" Charles practically ran after the duo as they approached the door. "The will!"

"As I've stated before, do not divide the fortune in my favor. Instead donate it to the families of those Winchester had ruined through his crimes. It won't bring back their loved ones, but it'll do their family good to finally be given the donation that their loved ones had been deprived."

"You are too generous Mr. Holmes, surely we can offer you something for your services! Anything!"

"Well, there is one thing that you could potentially do as a form of payment in my stead."

"Name it! Anything!"

"When the child comes do be sure to provide it with violin lessons. It does wonders for the soul."

"The... child..." Charles and Marie blushed a little at his remark. "How did you- Dr. Watson?"

"No, I never said a word!" Watson quickly defended himself sincerely.

"He did not need to." Sherlock gave Charles and Marie a sly grin. "The evidence presented itself: Mrs. Blanchard's excitement upon learning of the future grandchild of Mr. and Mrs. Scott, Mrs. Blanchard's sudden illness that vanished shortly after it appeared and her decision to decline wine with dinner. One needs not to be a doctor to see the symptoms, my dear friends."

On that final note of deductive prowess Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson gathered their bags and took their leave of the estate via horse and carriage.

The curse had been exposed as nothing more than a decades long cover up to hide the atrocities committed by a single man, the affairs of the estate would be addressed legally but civilly and Sherlock Holmes could return to London with yet another enigmatic case of incredible circumstance solved. Watson, the ever observant Boswell, would have a truly remarkable story to submit to the Strand once they've returned.

 ** _-The End  
_**

 **Author's Note:** Inspired heavily by ' _The Exhumed Client_ ', which was an episode from the television series simply titled ' _Sherlock Holmes_ ' from 1955 with Ronald Howard.


End file.
